With a Broken Heart
by crazycoffin
Summary: A love story between Hermione Granger and Tom Riddle. No books disregarded, except for a small thing in the third book--in my story, Hermione never gave back the Time-Turner.
1. And So it Came to Pass

Chapter 1

**And So it Came to Pass**

Hermione Granger sat on the edge of her bed, her face knitted in thought as the shadows cast across her bedroom slowly lightened. Outside her window was a world that had never known magic, true magic, and never would. She sat now in a room in a house whose occupants had, until seven years ago, also never dreamed there was another world out there, one where the impossible was ordinary. But then there had been a letter and a woman with kind eyes and a peculiar sense of style and everything had changed. A few soft, well-practiced words and her life had suddenly become different—as if she had suddenly realized that everything in her world was simply a veneer, beneath which a brilliant new planet lived. Hermione Granger reflected on that life-changing instant, that one moment where the universe had shifted and everything in it had tipped slightly off balance. And she wondered if she, bookish Hermione, had the power to do the same—the power to nudge the Earth so that it kept spinning, but the rotation was just a little different.

In her hands she held a small glass object that appeared to be a simple hourglass, though admittedly an ornate one with a long, fine chain attached to it. It was a Time-Turner, that little magical object with the power to send it's wearer through time itself. It was also, as far as Hermione knew, the last one still in existence. The rest had been smashed and though they had seemed to repair themselves, they had only broken again. On the bed beside her lay an old book, a fragment of one, really. It was tattered beyond repair, with the cover and most of the pages missing. She had not meant to find the book, but when she had summoned all of the books concerning Horcruxes from Dumbledore's study, this tiny scrap had been stuffed inside one of those vile, Dark tomes. All that remained of the book was a few brittle pages bound together with dark string. But on those pages were words, words that had made Hermione dig through her most treasured possessions to find the Time-Turner she had received just before the start of her third year at Hogwarts. The pages mostly detailed how Time-Turners were made, complex magic that Hermione had marveled at, but had nearly cast aside before her eye had fallen on the last few lines, which read:

_The Time-Glass is a most powerful invention indeed, a truly marvelous achievement. The Glass can be used to transport the wearer through time itself, both backwards and forwards. A simple counter-clockwise turn will send the wearer back an hour and a clockwise turn shall send them forward an hour. However, this is not the limit to the power of the Time-Glass. If one should risk flipping the Glass instead of simply turning it, they can move through years, or even decades. Be forewarned, traveling that far through time is less predictable than traveling backwards or forwards in hours, as the wearer may find themselves off by a few years one way or another. It should also be noted—_

The page had stopped there, but it was more than enough. A Time-Turner, which was surely the same as a Time-Glass, was not limited to transporting one through mere _hours_, but was enormously more powerful!

What she had read had put a fire in her veins. Hermione had always thought that a Time-Turner could only allow one to travel a few hours at the most, but this... this said that travel through years was possible—even through decades! What if... what if she went back many years? Fifty-plus years? If this book was right, and it seemed authentic enough, from what little was left, then she could do it. She could go back to the time when Lord Voldemort had not _been_ Lord Voldemort, the most powerful Dark wizard alive, but had instead been simply a student at the very school Hermione herself had attended for the last six years. If the book was right, then she could end the threat of Voldemort before it truly began!

Her heart pumped quickly as the heady idea sizzled through her, as Hermione imagined what a world without the Dark Lord might be like. All the innocents who would never die, all the lives that would never be rent to pieces for no reason... it was almost too huge for her to comprehend. The little scrap of book was the key. Hermione felt sure that the fragment must have been lost for a very long time—why else would no one have tried it already?

She felt a sudden chill, however, as the enormity of what she was contemplating fell heavily onto her shoulders and seemed to crush deeply upon her like lead weights. Could she really kill—murder—a man, no matter who he might become? Hermione Granger was not a killer and she knew it, she knew that her heart shied away from such horrific thoughts. Why, she could not even bear the thought of house-elves being enslaved! Could she actually take a life in cold blood? For a moment, her throat constricted as she thought it, as she wondered what it would feel like to know that she had cast the curse that had ended a life. Then calm fell over her, and her brown eyes reflected a steely determination that washed away the uncertainty. All she had to do was think of her friend, Harry Potter, who had lost his parents to the Dark wizard, who might have to die to save the rest of them. And of Neville Longbottom, a classmate of hers whose parents had suffered a fate worse than death because of Voldemort's followers. She knew so many, friends, acquaintances, classmates who had lost someone to the wizard or one of his Death Eaters. So yes, she could take a life to save a life—to save many lives. If she had the power, she would kill Voldemort, and she would not let it haunt her. How could it?

Hermione slid off the bed, staring around at her room and wondering what to pack and what to leave. When she had used the Time-Turner before, she had stayed in the same place physically as she'd moved through time. It seemed most logical, then, to pack her trunk with anything she might need, Apparate as close to Hogwarts as she could, and then use the Time-Turner to go back. She could pass as a new student, perhaps a transfer from... She frowned. The United States, perhaps? That could work. It would certainly explain why no one would know her, and they spoke English—a form of it, in any case. Furthermore, an American accent would be easier for her to mimic than, say, a German one.

Methodically, she began to pack. It was almost surreal, as if she were simply going back to school at the end of any other summer break. She almost tossed in her copy of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six_, when she paused, realizing that while the book had been originally been written decades ago, it had been revised and reprinted recently, only a handful of years ago. How would she explain turning up for the first day of lessons with a book printed fifty years in the future? Hermione sat back down on the bed with the book in hand, momentarily flummoxed by the problem. When the answer came to her, it was so simple she half expected it to not work. She tapped her wand on the title page and the numbers squiggled briefly, subtracting fifty years from the reprint date. Pleased, she stacked the book into her cauldron and repeated the process on the rest. When she was finished, she stood and gazed at her tidily packed trunk for a moment, trying to think of anything else she might need. On a sudden inspiration, she pulled a blank sheaf of parchment towards her and tapped it smartly with her wand. At once, words began to scroll across the page; the papers now giving her the identity of one Leto Alfero, (a name she borrowed from one of her Muggle neighbors) a transfer from the Midwestern School of Magic in Indiana, USA.

Hermione, now packed and furnished with a fake identity, paused again, this time wondering what to do about her parents. She had a plan for them, but if this worked she wouldn't need it... She would wait, Hermione decided, for if this, by some miracle, actually worked, then her plan wouldn't need to be put into effect. And if it didn't... well, she wouldn't really be gone for them, would she?

Closing her eyes, she concentrated—_deliberation, determination, and destination_ —and then was flung forward into crushing blackness, conscious only of the handle of her trunk as she clenched it in her hand. Almost instantly, she opened her eyes to the dark shape of familiar Hogwarts in the distance, though it did look a little different without the bustle of activity present during the school year. Then, before she had a chance to talk herself out of it, she gripped the Time-Turner hanging around her neck and flipped it, once, twice, three, four, five times, each time harder than the last. Darkness fell over her—there was a great whirl of sound—she was hanging onto the trunk for dear life—her body felt as if it were being simultaneously stretched and compressed—and then it was over and she stood in the very place she had been, just outside the front gate of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Oi! Where'd you come from?"


	2. Out of Time

_(__Thanks for the nice reviews! Sorry it took so long to get chapter two up, but I'm a slow writer...)_

Chapter 2

**Out of Time**

Hermione blinked several times. The empty, slightly eerie Hogwarts had been replaced with the more familiar version—one bustling with hundreds of students in black robes and a few teachers sprinkled about. She goggled for a moment, hardly daring to believe that the Time-Turner had worked, that she was standing fifty-odd years in the past. But... the haircuts! The robes! They were certainly like nothing she'd ever seen outside of old pictures.

"Hey, did you hear me? Where'd you come from, missy?" the scratchy voice asked again.

Hermione blinked again, looking around for the source of the questioning rasp. Her eyes landed on a short, bright-eyed man who had the look of a cheerful monkey; though undersized in stature, his arms were long, muscular, and hairy and his hands were enormous. "I," she began, wondering what to say for a moment before deciding on sticking as close to the truth as she could, "I Apparated."

The cheerful eyes narrowed a little. "Did you then? Who are you?" he asked firmly, though not aggressively. It took Hermione a moment to remember her story.

"I'm Leto, Leto Alfero," she replied composedly, pulling the magically forged papers from her pack as she added, "I'm hoping to transfer to this school. I've been attending school in the United States. I sent an owl to the head here, but didn't receive anything in return." Hermione frowned for effect. "My owl is a bit unreliable, I'm afraid." She quivered inside a little. She had been so focused on simply getting _here_ to this time, that now that she was here, she felt sure that her story would be seen through and she'd be tossed off the grounds. And then what a fix she'd be in... Hermione took a deep breath as the long-armed man perused her false transfer papers.

"The States, is it? Don't get many comers from there. Well, sure and this looks in order to me. S'pose we better go see the headmaster 'bout it," the man looked over the papers for a second, then jerked his head towards the building. He set off at a surprisingly quick trot for his short, bandy legs, and a surprised Hermione had to hurry to keep up. For the first time, she noticed that there were several students glancing at her as she walked. It wasn't much of a surprise; she supposed it wasn't too common for a student as old as she was to be new.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" she asked, puffing a little with the effort of dragging her trunk along with her.

The man glanced back at her, then grabbed one of the handles himself and handed back her papers. He pulled the trunk along without any visible signs of effort. "I'd be Ogg, Miss Alfero. Keeper of the Keys and Grounds for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. My apprentice, Rubeus, he's out helpin' some of the first years along to the castle. You'll be meetin' him later. Bit hard to miss him, really." He stopped and set her trunk down in front of the gargoyles that guarded the staircase to the headmaster's office. Ogg opened his mouth to say the password, but a voice interrupted before he could say anything.

"Who have you got there, Argen?" Hermione looked around for the owner of the voice, and had to brace herself to keep from gasping when she saw who it was. It was none other than Albus Dumbledore himself who was striding towards herself and the gamekeeper, long auburn hair and beard flowing. He did not wear the half-moon glasses, but his light blue eyes were still very penetrating as he studied Hermione, who was forced to quash a sudden urge to fidget. Oh, dear, and just when she thought she'd had a hope of pulling this off.

"Oh! Professor Dumbledore, this is Miss Leto Alfero," Ogg replied quickly, looking a little bit nervous at Dumbledore's presence himself. "She's a transfer. Got her papers in her hand, you'd like to see 'em."

Hermione took a deep breath in an effort to keep her voice steady and her face composed as she extended a hand. "How do you do, professor?" she asked carefully.

Dumbledore studied her hand for a moment before taking it, gripping it firmly as those blue eyes bored into hers. "Quite well, Miss Alfero. The papers?"

"Oh... yes," she handed them over, suddenly feeling less than convinced that their authenticity would stand up to Dumbledore's inspection.

Dumbledore studied them for what seemed to be rather a long time, then scrutinized Hermione closely again. After another eternally long moment, his gaze shifted to Ogg. "Thank-you, Argen. I'll take Miss Alfero from here. Will you see to her trunk?" he asked the gamekeeper, who nodded and hefted the chest, then hurried off. Without looking at Hermione again, he gave the gargoyles the password, then motioned for her to step onto the moving staircase with him. Because he didn't speak during it, the short ride seemed very long indeed. Dumbledore knocked lightly on the headmaster's door and received a tremulous entreaty to enter in return. He swept into the office with Hermione following somewhat less confidently. "I'm sorry to bother you, Armando, but you have a visitor who needs to speak to you," he said as Dippet looked up from a small mountain of parchment.

"A visitor?" the old man asked somewhat vaguely, then narrowed his eyes at Hermione. "And who are you?"

Hermione cleared her throat and glanced sideways at Dumbledore before answering, "I'm Leto, sir, Leto Alfero. I'm from America and I was hoping to transfer here to Hogwarts. I have all the papers..." she trailed off as Dumbledore set them down on the desk.

Dippet held them very close to his face as he looked them over. "This is... highly unusual. We've had transfers before, but on the very first day...? Highly unusual, yes."

"I apologize, sir. Copies of those papers were sent by owl, but I fear... er, Errol is a bit unreliable. It's likely he got sidetracked on the way." Hermione lied smoothly, while her heart constricted a little inside her chest. Oh, what had ever made her believe this would work, that a fully qualified wizard, the _headmaster_ of Hogwarts for goodness' sake, would be fooled by her forgery? She held her breath as he began to shuffle through the bits of parchment.

Dippet didn't seem to notice. "Well, this seems most... excellent, yes. Most excellent. Now, this grade scale... the A, B, C, D, and F, yes, this is equal to our own Outstanding, Exceeds Expectations, Acceptable, Fair, Poor, and Dreadful, yes." He mumbled a bit more in his wobbly, reedy way as he flipped one of the papers over, but there was a distinct gleam in his eye as he looked over her marks. "Well, Miss Alfero, I must say everything looks in order. Yes. As for the transfer, consider it done—this should be more than enough—" Hermione's breath almost burst out of her and she felt the wild urge to leap into the air with happiness. "—now, all you need is to be Sorted into a House..."

Remembering her role through her glee that somehow _it had worked_, Hermione politely broke in, "Er, Sorted, sir?"

The headmaster blinked at her. Dumbledore looked at her swiftly, but then looked away, so quickly Hermione wasn't sure he'd looked at her at all, but then Dippet started speaking again. "Sorted, yes, my dear girl. You see, we have four Houses here at Hogwarts. Each stands for a different virtue: courage, intelligence, willingness to work hard, and cunning. Now, your House will be like family while you're here, yes, and your actions can earn you points or lose you them—depending. At the end of the year, the House with the most points wins the Inter-House Competition. Yes, it's a very high honor. Very high."

Hermione nodded as if it were all new to her. "I see."

"Well, if that's all... Albus, why don't you take our new student down to see about her schedule this year..? I must attend to more paperwork... dratted stuff that it is." Dippet vaguely waved them off with the point of his quill.

"Of course, Armando," Dumbledore replied, the first he'd spoken through out the meeting. Graciously, he gestured to Hermione and they went down the moving staircase again in silence. It was only when they reached the bottom that he spoke, "You'll likely want to wait until after you've been Sorted to finalize a schedule, Miss Alfero... It is usually the task of the Heads of Houses to sort that out."

Hardly daring to believe that she had hoodwinked not only Armando Dippet, but Albus Dumbledore himself, Hermione nodded again. "I, I see. Thank-you for the advice." She turned to walk away, but then heard his voice again and turned back.

"Miss Alfero?" his blue eyes burned into her, not with any sort of ill will, but a kind of intensity that made it feel as if she were being looked through and made her insides begin to wriggle uncomfortably. "You may have hoodwinked Armando and Argen, but I'm afraid I'm not yet convinced. I'm going to keep my eye on you."

"I—"

"Good evening to you, Miss Alfero. The Sorting will take place in the Great Hall.


	3. A House for Everyone

Chapter 3

**A House for Everyone and Everyone in a House**

Hermione followed the stream of first-years that was filing into the Great Hall, earning a few odd looks from the tiny, terrified eleven year-olds. She didn't blame them as she felt more than a little odd herself, towering over the others at the end of the line. Had she been that small when she had first come to Hogwarts? Surely not. The odd looks continued as she followed the group into the Hall, the enchanted ceiling above showing a clear, clear night sky of smooth black, fat stars sprinkled across like diamonds flung carelessly into paint. For some reason, the familiar sight calmed her.

The Sorting Hat was brought into the Hall and set upon its usual three-legged stool. As she had the day she had first come to Hogwarts, Hermione stared at it, along with the first-years, with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. She felt one of them jolt as the wide rip in the brim opened and began to sing:

"_A hat you see and not one new_

_But this hat has a mind just like you_

_And I will sort you into one of the Houses four_

_Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw_

_Slytherin and Gryffindor_

_Each is named for their founder most illustrious_

_Each stands for a virtue that shows the best of us._

_Hufflepuff, the kind-hearted and generous_

_Ravenclaw, the intelligent and studious_

_Slytherin, the shrewd and wily_

_Gryffindor, the brave and loyal_

_These traits will be sought in all_

_And are valued most highly_

_So pop me on and have no fear_

_I'll take a look between each ear_

_To find which House suits you the most_

_A place like home for while you're hear!"_

Hermione swallowed as she forced herself to clap along with the rest of the students as the Sorting Hat fell silent. What if the Hat could see that she wasn't who she said she was? What if it tried to warn the school? Her knuckles turned white as a teacher, an ancient looking man with a surprisingly powerful voice, began to read the names off of a scroll of parchment, beginning with "Ackles, Jensen!" A stocky blond boy shuffled forward, looking equal parts cocky and nervous as he jammed the Hat onto his head. Almost immediately, the Hat cried "GRYFFINDOR!" and the boy ran off, looking pleased, as the Gryffindor table burst into applause.

The man waited for the cheers to die down before calling, "Alfero, Leto!"

Hermione jolted. She'd forgotten that her new surname began with an 'a'. Oh, for Merlin's sake, what had she been thinking? She nearly moaned it aloud. Taking a long moment to compose herself, she swallowed again as she began to walk forward, listening as murmurs began to flow from the watching crowd of students. Trembling a little, feeling decidedly more nervous now than she had the first time she'd been Sorted, she made her way to the stool, eyes pinned on the plain black Hat that could bring her entire plan crashing down around her ears. _Breathe,_ she ordered herself silently, _just breathe._ Dragging her feet to give her some time, she thought hurriedly back to the books she had read on Occlumency when Harry had had lessons with Snape. She'd never practiced the techniques herself, but what did she have to lose by trying now?

She sat down on the stool. As it had the day she'd first been Sorted, the Hat dropped down over her eyes and sent her into darkness as she desperately tried to keep her mind blank.

"Hmmmm..." the small voice in her ear said slowly, "Very brave, I see, very brave indeed... Very smart as well, and quite generous. My, my, what will we do with you Ms. Alfero?"

Hermione said nothing in return, fiercely concentrating on keeping her mind blank... empty.

The Hat seemed to consider. "Brave, smart, generous," it paused for an infinitely long moment, "and rather deceptive, I see. Well, to be sure, I know what House will suit you best... SLYTHERIN!!"

It took a moment, but the Slytherin table broke out into scattered, somewhat reserved applause and Hermione, relief mingled thoroughly with apprehension, lifted the Hat from her head and set it back on the stool. It seemed to gaze at her knowingly, amusedly even.

Slytherin... she had been placed in Slytherin. Hermione had never imagined the possibility. How was she ever going to keep her act up if she was surrounded by Slytherins? Brooding slightly, she listened only distantly as the Hat was dropped on other heads, as it called out other Houses. She was aware, in a way, that her new Housemates looked at her out of the corner of their eyes after the initial, mostly friendly greeting, and even managed to feign interest in the rest of the Sorting.

She felt eyes on her and, looking up to the staff table, was not entirely surprised to see the piercing, light-blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore gazing back at her over familiar half-moon glasses. They made her want to weep. Looking into them, she could not help but remember the day, so far into the future, that they would be closed forever. There was little of their usual twinkle in those bright eyes, replaced with a look of assessment, as though she were a bizarre puzzle he was attempting to figure out. Though she wanted to look away, Hermione met his gaze squarely, openly, until a faint smile touched his lips and his attention returned to the Sorting.

"You're a bit old, aren't you?" a voice asked her bluntly.

Hermione blinked and turned to face the boy who had spoken, a young man near her age with a pointed, vaguely familiar face and blond hair. "I'm sorry?"

"Bit old, aren't you? To be here, to be Sorted for the first time?" the boy asked, arrogance dripping off every word. It wasn't a studied, put-on arrogance, but one that seemed bred into him as surely as the blue-grey of his eyes and Hermione debated whether to forgive him of it or not.

"I'm transferring in from the States," she replied neutrally, hoping her American accent sounded passable.

"The States? Hm." He fell silent, then stuck out his hand. His eyes held a similar look as Dumbledore's had—a look of measurement. "Vasher Malfoy."

Hermione swallowed her immediate distaste and took his hand firmly, "Leto Alfero." It was a struggle, but she managed to add, "Nice to meet you," in a fairly sincere tone.

Vasher smiled, his faintly blue eyes crinkling a little at the corners. "Yeah, you too. As I said, I'm Vasher, or Vash, that's Orion Black, and her there on your other side is Poppy Parkinson. Stick around with us enough and you'll be in good company." As he spoke, he pointed out a short, broad boy with dark hair and a lazy manner and a pretty girl with brown hair and haughty eyes. Both nodded to her, neither overly warmly nor particularly inhospitably and she returned their greetings in kind, unsure as to how Slytherins were expected to act. _The nobility_, Hermione thought as she greeted each in turn, for each had their own easy arrogance and smoothly attractive faces that seemed made to attract followers. Indeed, she caught a few envious glances sent her way by others at the table. If this was the Slytherin nobility, then her quick acceptance was likely atypical. Then again, she wasn't entirely sure she _was_ accepted. Hermione caught the now-familiar look of assessment in their eyes, as if they were waiting to make a firm judgment.

"The rule of the school?" she asked, her mouth twitching a little.

For a moment, Malfoy's face stayed blank, but then he smiled again. "Oh, no, we're just the nobles of Slytherin, toiling happily away for our lord," he replied, his voice utterly serious despite the smile. His eyes flicked pointedly and Hermione turned her head to follow his gaze.

She felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her by a velvet fist of sheer, instantaneous attraction. Hermione couldn't say exactly why. The boy she saw, a few seats down and watching the Sorting with every appearance of rapt attention, was handsome, yes, but his face was impossibly cold beneath his feigned (and it was feigned) alertness. His jet-black hair was short and tidy, his equally dark eyes were as unreadable as ink and had nearly the same X-ray quality as Dumbledore's. "And who is that?" she asked, her voice somehow maintaining its sound of polite interest while everything inside her twisted a little.

"That," Poppy Parkinson replied, speaking for the first time, "is Tom Riddle."

Lightly, Vasher added, "Manage to find your way into his good graces, and you'll glide through school. He's a sixth-year like us, but he'll be doing some pre-NEWT studying with Professor Rahl. Passed with twelve Outstanding OWLs last year." He smirked. "Make no mistake; Tom Riddle is going to be powerful someday. Very powerful."

Hermione gazed at the dark-haired Riddle, struggling to keep her face calm and composed as she realized both that the punch of desire she'd felt had been directed at a young Voldemort and that Tom Riddle was much older than she'd hoped him to be. "You have no idea," she murmured under her breath, too quietly for any of the others to hear.


	4. Not Such a Simple Task After All

Chapter 4

**Not Such a Simple Task After All**

It was easy to slip into the routine of school. Rising early, heading to class, scribbling notes furiously—all of it so familiar it was almost like a warm hand patting her on the back. There were problems, of course, such as when she forgot to use her American accent one morning during a rush to get to breakfast, forcing Hermione to think quickly and pass it off as a poor attempt at putting on a British accent.

She remained wary of her Housemates, though Vasher, Orion, and Poppy were all surprisingly pleasant. She had not been wrong in her first impression; those three had a great deal of sway over the rest of the House. Hermione had begun to pick up on the hierarchy of the Slytherins. Most were placed squarely in the 'plebian' class, but certain students had certain in-House privileges, which became progressively more numerous with the higher years. The exception was Tom Riddle. All of the Slytherins seemed to hero-worship Riddle, from green first years to seventh years. If there were spheres of power in the Slytherin House, Riddle sat squarely at the top, with Malfoy, Black, and Parkinson just beneath, and Lestrange, Avery, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Macnair, and Rookwood below them. It was very strange to be in such close contact with those she knew were going to become murderers, torturers when they grew up. Hermione wasn't sure where she fell, exactly, but it seemed she was under the claim of Vasher and the others, whom she had begun to think of collectively as the Nobles. To her mind, it was a rather precarious position in which to be. Hermione lived continuously with the feeling that she was being measured and it was quite nerve-wracking.

Then, of course, was the biggest problem of all: Tom Riddle. Looking back at her plan, Hermione could both hardly believe it had worked thus far and wonder how on Earth she was going to do what she meant to do and kill Riddle. After all, she had been counting in Riddle being young, a first or second year, and therefore easier to… eliminate. Instead he was her age and no doubt much more magically advanced, not to mention the apple of every teacher's eye. Murdering Hogwarts' prize student seemed a bit problematic considering he was constantly surrounded by awe-struck followers. Even students from other Houses seemed hardly able to resist him. Hermione needed a way to find him alone, perhaps ambush him… Her stomach turned over as she thought it.

"Well, where have you gone off to?" Vasher's voice, faintly amused and even more faintly annoyed, broke Hermione's thoughts. She blinked, blinking at his even-featured face as he quirked a brow and added playfully, "And can I go with you?"

"Oh," Hermione said somewhat stupidly, blinking again and glancing down at her Potions notes to give herself some time to think. It was a testament to her scholarly ability that she had written down nearly every word Professor Slughorn had said while absorbing none of it. Of course, it was also helpful that she already knew the material being covered from her lessons with Slughorn last year… or fifty years in the future, as the case happened to be. "Nowhere. Just marveling that a potion as complex as Felix Felicis was discovered by accident," she replied lightly, bending down to poke her wand into the kindling below her cauldron and leaning back as it burst into crackling flames.

Vasher laughed. "Truly, I think you and Tom would make a great duo when it comes to all this. Both of you take it so very seriously."

Reflexively, Hermione glanced a few seats over to where Riddle was sitting, his usual expression of rapt attention on his face as he too took notes in a careful hand. She felt the trip in her belly once again, but refused to acknowledge it. If they had to be in so many of the same pre-NEWT classes, she thought crossly, it would be nice if she could figure out how to get him alone.

To kill him. Merlin's beard.

"Yes, well, that's fine," she said vaguely, flipping through pages of her copy of _Advanced Potion Making_ as she searched for the correct instructions for Essence of Fortune, which was something like Felix Felicis but rather different as well. Beside her, Vasher sighed and also began to page through his book. Vasher Malfoy, Hermione had learned, was a reasonably talented wizard, but much preferred the broomstick to the quill.

They worked in silence through most of the class, one occasionally asking the other how many dried rabbits' toes or how much black cat fur to add. She couldn't think about her troubles now, not if she wanted to make a good potion. With Hermione's exactness balancing Vasher's reluctance, they managed well enough. He read the ingredients and instructions, Hermione carried them out. Using her wand, Hermione siphoned out two flasks' worth and corked them, the pale green liquid slightly viscous. She handed Vasher his and carried hers up and set it on the corner of Professor Slughorn's desk before heading back to the cauldron to pack their supplies. Vasher followed. "Big match tomorrow," he said casually, watching as she precisely returned each ingredient to its place. Hermione did not allow him to "help" anymore, seeing as his method of organization was rather unorganized.

"Hmm?" she muttered, sliding the tin of rabbit toes into the bag. "Oh, yes, against Gryffindor, right?"

Vasher smiled, glad that the sports-averse Leto had remembered. "Yeah. Weasley said he's going to score twelve goals on me, at least. You're gonna be there to see him cry when I smack him down, right?"

"Hmm? Er, yeah, I'll try. I don't know; I might be pretty busy," Hermione replied distractedly, looking up in time to see Vasher's arrogant features fall a little. She backed up mentally, smiled, and added, "I'll do my best, okay? I'd love to see you give those… slimy Gryffindors what for." As she'd hoped, her words brought the haughty grin back to his face. Personally, however, Hermione resolved to schedule some sort of in-depth study session for the game. She was far from convinced that her acting abilities were good enough for her to fake Slytherin House spirit.

Checking that the last bottle of bubotuber pus was in its place, Hermione swung her ingredients bag over her shoulder as they headed towards the door. She was a little worried about Vasher; he was hardly being subtle towards her and the last thing she needed was a relationship with a Slythering—_especially_ a Malfoy. They were nearly out of the classroom when Stewart called to her. Glancing quizzically at Vasher, she shrugged and headed back in, Vasher trailing her.

"Miss Alfero? I'm afraid you need to leave a sample of your potion," Slughorn said, his thick ginger mustache ruffling slightly.

Hermione frowned. "But I did…" she began, trailing off as she counted the haphazard row of flasks sitting on his desk. It was two short. Hers and Vasher's were missing. "But, Professor," she said urgently, "you know I would never _not_ turn in work for a lesson. Please, sir, surely I can…" She trailed off as he cleared his throat, looking seriously at her.

"Miss Alfero, I know you do exemplary work…" Slughorn began, looking reluctant to chastise one of his brightest students, "but I can't give you preferential treatment."

Vasher finally spoke up, "Sir, we both worked on that potion. If there was just something else we could do instead…" Hermione and Slughorn both blinked at Vasher in surprise—typically the thought of extra work made him ill.

Slughorn relented. "Well… I suppose it wouldn't hurt… just this once… Alright, both of you write me a ten-inch comprehensive essay comparing and contrasting Felix Felicis and Essence of Fortune, to be turned in by the end of the week. Miss Alfero, you can turn yours in Saturday; we're having another Slug Club meeting." He wagged a pudgy finger at both of them. "But no more missing potions!"

Relieved, Hermione nodded. "No, sir. Thank-you, sir." Dipping her head, she and Vasher left the classroom. Where _had_ the potion gone? Up ahead, she saw Tom Riddle, the only other student compulsively neat enough to linger after class to make sure all his ingredients were organized. "I'll catch up to you," she muttered to Vasher, peeling away from him to catch Riddle. "Tom," she said, boldly walking right up to him, a needle of anger brushing away her instinctive apprehension of the tall, handsome boy, "Did you do something with my potion?"

Riddle looked at her, a puzzled expression creasing his attractive face. "What do you mean?"

For some reason, this only made Hermione angrier. "I mean, did you vanish my potion?" she snapped.

The prefect sneered. "Why on Earth would I do that?"

"I don't know. Maybe you were worried I might do better than you!" Hermione retorted, matching his sneer and jabbing a finger at him. "You were the only other person in that classroom other than Vash and myself. Well, Slughorn, but he's not going to be doing anything to my potion!"

Coldly, Riddle turned to walk away. "You're fooling yourself, Alfero, if you think I'd be worried enough by you to try and sabotage your potion."

Hermione was left to fume at his back. Then she realized that she'd just accused _Voldemort_ of being threatened by _her_. The very idea was laughable. She shook her head. What in the name of Merlin's fuzzy knickers had gotten into her? Slowly, she headed back towards the Slytherin common room. Now she had a ten-inch essay to write on top of all her other schoolwork. Not to mention she still was trying to figure out how to deal with Tom—with Riddle.

Behind her, Tom Riddle had turned back, his dark, ice-pick eyes boring into her back.

_(**A. N**. Whew, this chapter was hard! I know it might seem a little slow and/or extraneous, but it does have a point. Really! Thanks for all the nice reviews so far and keep 'em coming, they give me motivation to write! :D )_


	5. How Stupid Could I Be?

Chapter 5

**How Stupid Could I Be?**

_(I am so, so sorry that this took so long. I went on vacation and didn't have any time to write, and then on the last day of my trip, I came down with E. Coli poisoning. But, I've finally finished the chapter, and I hope it was worth such a long wait… it's a little longer than the average.)_

"Now, don't forget, the Club is having a special Halloween party here!" Slughorn said cheerily to the students, waggling a finger in faux-threat as he added, "And I expect all of you to have excellent costumes!"

Hermione rubbed her eyes. Though her schoolwork was made easier by the fact that she'd done most of it before, she had been researching as many hexes, charms, and curses in her spare time as she possibly could and she was exhausted. She would be doing more research right now if not for the silly Slug Club meeting… (It was essentially the same as it had been before, though Slughorn dropped different names than he had… or, rather, would.) Now, on top of everything else she was doing, she needed to make or buy a costume for his Halloween celebration—a task made even more problematic by the fact that Leto Alfero didn't exist and therefore had no money. Make a costume it was, then, which was certainly a trial in its own right.

"Oh, Leto?" Slughorn called as she made her way to the door.

Hermione turned back, covering her irritation with a smile. "Yes?" she asked, wondering what he wanted now.

He smiled at her, indulgently, and folded his hands over his button-straining belly as he said, "Well, you see, I'll be a bit, ah, busy over the holiday. I was hoping that perhaps you could help me with the decorations?"

"Oh, but I—" Hermione began, breaking off as she looked into his expectant face, "Of course, Professor. I'd… love to." She managed not to grimace as she said it, but it was a close thing. If she didn't think being one of the apples of Slughorn's eye might come in handy (one never knew, after all) she would have refused. But for now, she decided it was more important to stay in his good graces.

Slughorn smiled. "Fabulous, Leto, just fabulous. Now, you'll want to coordinate with Tom, as he's also agreed—" he broke off as Hermione interrupted him.

"Tom? Tom _Riddle's_ also helping with the decorations?" Hermione sputtered, tugging at her bushy hair.

The professor looked surprised. "Oh, my, yes. He's a regular hand at these things. And I know you're both taking plenty of upper-level classes, so I didn't want either of you working alone."

"How… thoughtful of you," Hermione replied faintly. Wonderful. Not only was even more of her time going to be eaten up by this silly party, she was going to have to rub shoulders with the dreaded Tom Riddle while she was at it. Grumpily mulling her problems over, she reached absently for her bag before remembering that she hadn't needed to take it to a club meeting. With a sigh, she made her way from the office, hardly noticing where her feet were taking her as she headed out.

"Hey, Alfero!"

It took a moment as she sometimes forgot about her alias, but Hermione realized that the call had been for her. Blinking, she glanced around, a little bit surprised to see Orion Black heading her way. "Oh, hello Orion. I thought you were Vasher for a moment there," Hermione greeted him politely, but wondered what he might want. The lackadaisical Orion typically had little more to say to her than an indolent "Hey" at mealtimes.

Orion smiled, holding out a small scroll of parchment sealed with Slytherin green wax. "Tom asked me to give this to you. Something about the Slug Club party?"

A bit surprised that Riddle would be so quick to contact her, Hermione accepted the roll with a return smile for Orion. "Thanks."

"No problem. Catch you later," Orion said carelessly before strolling off, pausing only to sneer at a couple of Gryffindor fifth-years.

Breaking the wax seal, Hermione frowned as she opened the little roll of crisp parchment and began to read the neat, brisk handwriting.

_Leto,_

_Slughorn told me that he was going to ask you to help out with the Halloween decorations. I have a few ideas. Why don't we go over them at the library tomorrow? We have pretty much the same schedule, so the evening break should work._

_See you there,_

_Tom._

Hermione frowned a little deeper as she rolled the scroll back up and tucked it into her robes. Typical Riddle, she thought to herself, politely giving orders and expecting them to be followed. A petty, silly part of her wanted to ignore it and him, but a more rational part of her brain knew she'd have nothing to gain by doing so and might as well see what he wanted. Probably for her to keep her nose out so he could plan it all—which would be just fine for her.

And that was how she found herself heading to the library during her evening break the next day. Though most of her teachers were lessening the amount of homework they were giving over the holidays, Hermione likely would have dropped into the library even if she hadn't been dragooned into decorating Slughorn's stupid party. She spotted Riddle right away, sitting alone at a table either doing some quick studying or really getting into the whole party-planning affair. Ignoring the way her stomach jumped and her heart wrapped itself around her windpipe, Hermione took a deep breath and headed over to his table. She reminded herself to be friendly and normal. They were both brilliant Slytherins, that was all, doing a little bit of planning for a party. "Um, h-hello," Hermione said, listening to the fantasy where she had been straightforward and confident fall apart as she stuttered.

Why did he have to be so handsome?

The thought ran through her mind before she had time to block it as Tom glanced up at her and smiled. It was a perfectly, horribly, _devastatingly_ handsome smile that made his dark, piercing eyes a little gentler and showed off even white teeth and a well-shaped chin. The way her insides went to mush because of that stupid, gorgeous smile made Hermione want to slap a hand to her forehead several times. She needed to, without a doubt, get a grip on herself.

Or on him.

For the love of Merlin!

"Hello," Tom replied as she mentally kicked herself and lectured about common sense. He still seemed engrossed in his… whatever it was he was doing. Hermione tried to decipher what it was, but it was upside down to her and his hands covered most of it. He had, she noted despite her lecture, really great hands—all long-fingered and elegant and flawlessly pale. Abruptly, Tom, no, _Riddle_ put his quill down and lifted the piece of parchment with two fingers and asked, "Tell me, what do you think?"

Hermione felt a bit of surprise, but studied what was revealed to be a sketch. "It's… sinister," she decided at last, her golden brown eyes sweeping over the drawing of what seemed to be a hooded cloak with long sleeves that nearly touched the ground. She looked at Tom—at Riddle—and couldn't keep herself from asking, "What is it?"

Riddle studied the sketch again, seeming pleased with Hermione's interpretation. "It's my costume."

Hermione looked again at the sketch, which was upside down once more. "I see. It looks a bit like a dementor's cloak, you know."

Tom smiled at her. "It's supposed to. So, any idea what you're costume is going to be?"

"Oh… maybe a hag," Hermione muttered, his question reminding her that she was cross over this whole affair.

He smiled again. "With that hair?"

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. Perhaps, just perhaps, this wasn't going to be as bad as she had thought it would be. She pulled out a chair and sat, asking, "So, what were those ideas you had?"

Tom looked pleased to be asked and energetically pulled out a few more sketches as he replied, "Well, you know how the main hall is always done traditionally, right? Oh, well, I guess you wouldn't. But there are usually floating candles, pumpkins, and et cetera. I thought we could use some of those aspects and add some stuff of our own, like conjured skulls holding the candles or black birdcages…"

Looking at the sketches as he rambled on, Hermione found that she couldn't help but be impressed with all of the work he had done. The drawings were neat and meticulous, if not particularly artistic, and he really did have good ideas. She almost felt a little embarrassed, considering she hadn't really tried to come up with any ideas at all, being too busy stewing about the situation and all. "I like the skull idea, it's very creepy. What if you took it a bit further and used a whole skeleton in a corner or two? It could hold a candle in each hand."

He looked at her intently, and she suddenly worried that her idea was silly, but then he offered one of his slow, perfect smiles. "That's a good one. If it was in a corner or something, we could even sort of slump it down or something as if it was someone who got lost…"

As she walked back to the common room with him much, much later, Hermione reflected that this whole party-planning business wasn't quite the torture she'd expected it to be. Why, Tom made it almost, well actually he made it really quite fun. He was clever and wittier than she'd expected and goodness knew he wasn't hard to look at. And he'd been very friendly, as if their earlier, tenser encounter had never happened. Neither of them had mentioned it, for which Hermione was very thankful. They seemed to be getting along just fine and certainly didn't need that to muck things up.

Standing at the hallway where the girls' dorms were, Hermione smiled at Tom as she indicated the door. "Well… Good-night," she said hesitantly, suddenly feeling unaccountably nervous. It was as though he was bringing her home after a date. (Or, it seemed like it was, since she'd never actually had a date.) What would he do? Would he… might he… what if he kissed her? The second the thought popped into her head, she nearly moaned aloud. Why the devil would she think that?

"Yes… good-night," Tom replied simply, though with a look in his eye that she couldn't quite interpret. He leaned closer. Her heart threatened to sprint right out of her chest. He touched her hand, "You had some good ideas, Leto. Will Thursday at the same time work again?"

"Oh. Yes. Yes, yes, it will."

He smiled. "Good. Sleep well."

Faintly, Hermione managed, "Thank-you," as she stepped into the hallway, shut the door behind her. Then she simply sagged against it. She was, without a doubt, an idiot.


End file.
